


Like Someone in Love

by hag



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M, au where things are a little better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4005151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hag/pseuds/hag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freddie is rat, a pig, and a man who has fallen dearly in love with a man who shouldn't love him back, and so Freddie decides to tell the whole truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Freddie kind of wishes that the past few weeks of his life could be erased from history, any record of it forgotten, and he could go back to doing nothing every day. When he had decided to take the undercover job, all he was thinking of was that he was sick and tired of getting up, going to work, coming home, jacking off, and then sleeping day after day. Every morning when he got up, nothing was exciting or new: same coffee, same couch, same suit. So when he took the job, he was craving a bit of excitement in his life, and working with a group of criminals on a heist seemed like the place to start (all within the parameters of the law, of course). Freddie got good at acting, and had really taken on the persona he was creating under the alias Joe Cabot had given to him. Mr. Orange was a smooth criminal, but Freddie Newendyke was a sad kid working for the LAPD with a passion for comic books and masturbation. And in these past few weeks, Freddie wasn’t sure how different he was from Mr. Orange anymore. He had the creeping suspicion that maybe he had started to believe his own cover story.

Originally, Freddie reported back to the LAPD on every piece of information that came his way. But then, Freddie started to form bonds with these men. He knew all about them: about their past jobs, about things they remembered from their childhoods, and about which ones hated their fathers, which ones preferred burgers over tacos, and which ones preferred tacos over burgers. But most of all, Freddie knew Mr. White. He’s not sure how it happened the first time—a firm hand on this knee, perhaps that look that White gave him at that bar when they were with Nice Guy Eddie and Joe— but all Freddie knew was that being fucked by Mr. White that first time was the best thing he had ever experienced, and it was all downhill from there. From that point on, Freddie’s reports became less detailed, as sometimes he would feel intense pangs of guilt when he remembered Mr. White’s lips, his hands, his eyes. It was all so corny.

Sleeping with Mr. White had become a regular thing by week 3 of heist planning. After they fucked, they would lie together in White’s motel room and smoke cigarettes and talk about things: the job, the city, life, and even (in limited amounts) themselves. And even one time, Mr. White – in a moment of beautiful human bonding – he told him that his name was Larry. Freddie didn’t tell the LAPD this. He felt so guilty over this, and so close to Mr. White that he didn’t even want to call him Larry. This information was dangerous, and so much more so than White could even imagine in the hands of Freddie. 

It was the best of times for Freddie, and also the worst of times. The happier he felt with White, the more he remembered how it would all end. The more he remembered that when this was all over, it would be by Freddie’s hand that White would end up in federal prison. 

And then one night, 3 days out from the heist, and almost 4 weeks into his undercover job, Freddie makes the rash decision to tell the full truth to Mr. White. He was going to confess the truth about him being undercover, and he, in some miraculous feat, still keep Mr. White. He went to White’s motel room, jittery with anticipation of what was to come. He felt like the pig that he was: a cop. It had been a while since Freddie had really thought about being a cop, about how White didn’t even think cops were human, and how Freddie had probably started to believe it too. He hesitated once to get out his car, but five moments of reconsideration to even knock on the door. He raised his fist, ready to knock, but then brought back his hand, reconsidering the possible consequences of the confession of such betrayal to a man Freddie started to think he loved a little bit. But then, finally, Freddie brought himself to knock firmly 3 times on the door. He waited for a moment, heard the sliding of the metal lock, and Mr. White opened the door. They were both silent for a moment, but White had a huge smile on his face. Freddie didn’t know what expression he was making.

Mr. White’s smile dropped, “Hey, kid, what’s wrong? You seem nervous.” Apparently, his expression wasn’t as giddy as White’s. Freddie opened his mouth, trying to answer but he felt his Mr. Orange façade begin to crack, and he was at a loss for words. 

“Is it the job? Look I know, we all get nervous before a heist like this.” Mr. White reached out and put his hand on the back of Freddie’s neck, “Well, aren’t you comin’ in?” Freddie, who still hadn’t said a word yet, entered the musty motel room and White shut the door behind him. White took Freddie’s face in his hands and kissed him hard as soon as the door was shut. “I’ve been missing you, baby,” White said once he had broken off the kiss that had only made Freddie more nervous.

The motel room was stuffy and smelled of cigarettes, and White had drawn the curtains closed over only window. The room was sectored off by a counter to divide the bedroom/living area complex from the small kitchen. In the center of the main area (which was quite small) was the bed that had been freshly made (probably by housekeeping) with the turquoise and pink comforter and white sheets. On both sides of the bed there were nightstands with lamps sitting on top, and one little table had an ashtray on it. The window situated on the same wall as the door, under which was the couch. White had the TV on, which was on a dresser a few feet away from the foot of the bed.

For a moment, Freddie just held onto White’s plain white t-shirt, completely dumbstruck with anxiety, and White sensed the tension. “Do you wanna tell me something, baby?” he asked, bringing Freddie’s chin up so that he was gazing into Freddie’s eyes. “Uh…yeah actually…I kind of do.” Mr. White let a brief look of worry cross his face before he led Freddie with him to sit next to each other on the overstuffed couch. Freddie gripped the arm of the couch for dear life as Mr. White wrapped his arm around Freddie’s shoulders, and made little circular motions with his thumb on his upper back. Normally, this small (but very special and new to Freddie) action would have made Freddie feel relaxed and loved, but at this moment he felt the very opposite. 

There was silence for a few (excruciatingly long) moments. “Mr. Whi—Larry –I uh… I’m a,” Freddie started to croak out, tripping over Mr. White’s name and then freezing. He felt White tensing up too; he was worried for Freddie. Then it all came spilling out like disgusting bile: “Larry, I’m a cop.” He stopped there for a moment; Freddie thinks that maybe White thinks he’s joking. His voice is dry, “I’m a cop, and I’m undercover and I’ve blown it for you all. They know almost everything. I didn’t – I don’t want it to be like this and I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, that’s why I’m telling you this, Whi—Larry. I love you. I love you so much p-please…” Freddie trailed off, his breath hitched in his throat, and tears were welling up in his eyes.

Then there was silence.

Freddie breathed shakily in the quiet for a few moments before White snapped his arm out from behind Freddie and stood up. Freddie braced himself with his arms shielding his face to be hit or slapped or beat; he probably deserved it. But when it didn’t happen, Freddie took his arms down and gazed up to face White who had his hand on the back of his head, shaking his head softly. “You don’t really think I would hurt you, do you, kid?” Freddie thought that he saw tears in White’s eyes under his furrowed brow, and it made Freddie feel sick.

Then White grabbed his jacket that was in a pile on the bed, and left the motel room, slamming the door as he went. 

All Freddie did was sit there in shock, in disbelief of his own choice to do as he just did. There was a pit in his stomach and glimmer of hope in the back of his mind that this may all work out. Even if it probably wouldn’t.


	2. Chapter 2

Freddie sat there on the motel sofa debating on whether or not to leave, or to wait here to try to talk to White when he returned. There was so much more that Freddie needed to say, things like what his real name even is. Then maybe things will be regular, and everyone will call each other by their first names and not codenames. Although that seemed far away now, because things had been as normal as they’d get at this point, and Freddie had ruined that.

Freddie’s mind strayed, remembering all the incredible moments that he had spent with Mr. Whi—no, incredible moments that he had spent with Larry over these past few weeks, and he thought about how it would feel if he lost all of that. Just yesterday morning, before Freddie had really even put thought into making a confession to Larry, he had woken up in the bed he was staring at in this very moment. Larry was next to him, still mostly asleep, and everything was quiet. Freddie thinks that these are the kinds of moments that people take cheesy Polaroid pictures of. He watched Larry sleep, and thought that things probably couldn’t get bad, because how things are now seemed so permanent. He had been wrong about that.

Last Sunday morning, 4 days ago, Larry combed Freddie’s hair in the morning so that it looked nice and professional. At the time, it felt silly, but Freddie realized that Larry did this because he felt compassion and love for Freddie; he wanted to take care of him. He and Larry got lunch together almost every day, and Larry always paid. Larry even sometimes cooked meals (nothing fancy, but they were still good) for him and Freddie to eat together for dinner in the motel room that had become a second home. Freddie wondered how much Larry had paid to spend day-after-day for a month at this motel. It was surely cheap, but a seemingly extravagant expense. 

Never had anyone paid such attention to Freddie in his life. The way Larry looked at Freddie was unlike anyone ever had before. And when Freddie talked, Larry really listened. When Freddie wanted to show him something, Larry really watched. Larry really cared. 

Freddie had ex-boyfriends, a couple wayward ex-girlfriends (before he had worked out that girls weren’t really his thing), but none of them had cared for Freddie like this. He had only ever dated people his age, classmates or coworkers, and never had he even considered someone so much older. But Larry just made sense, and their age gap didn’t really cross Freddie’s mind that much. Maybe it crossed Larry’s though, because Larry babied Freddie and took care of him like a guardian. It wasn’t weird though; in fact, it was the thing that made this relationship mean so much more to Freddie.

A couple of times, Larry had brought up old lovers, but never really specified gender. Every now and again Larry would drop a pronoun, so Freddie knew that he had loved both men and women. They were all mostly old crime partners, or were on his team during a heist, but there was one time that Larry mentioned a high school boyfriend. It was weird to Freddie because it wasn’t long ago that Freddie had had a high school sweetheart, but it had been a long time since Larry had had that.

At some point, Freddie had started to cry softly to himself, and he wiped tears from his cheek with the palm of his hand; he was so overwhelmed. Sure, Freddie had accidentally made a few deal breakers in past relationships slip, but this one was intentional self-sabotage. God, he was so tired.

He slouched further down on the sofa. He didn’t know how long he had been in the motel room, but the final rays of dusk were slipping out of the room. It had still been daylight when he had first arrived. Freddie watched a ray on sunlight that was projected on the bedspread gradually become smaller, but before it had completely gone away, Freddie fell asleep.

\--

Freddie awoke to a strong hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. “Hey, baby, get up. We need to get goin’.” Freddie didn’t even open his eyes; he was too sleepy, “Go where? I’m tryna sleep.” Larry patted Freddie’s cheek lightly, “I’ll explain in the car, kid, but we gotta go.” Freddie, although still super groggy, suddenly remembered what had happened with Larry earlier—or wait, was it still today? Or is it tomorrow? His eyes shot open, “Oh god, what’s t’day? And oh, Larry, I…” Larry hushed him, pulling a duffle bag off of the bed, and pulling Freddie to his feet.

“Look, baby, don’t get too worried. I worked everything out, but we need to get outta here because I just did a lot of things I shouldn’t be doin’ to get you safe.” Freddie shifted on his feet, still trying to wake up. He had a slight headache, his neck hurt, he was a bit nauseous, he wanted to go back to sleep. “What are you talking about?” Freddie asked, wiping his eye with the back of his hand and scrunching his face up in an attempt to level himself. 

Larry walked over to a little coat closet on the far side of the room and picked up a travel bag that was sitting just next to it that he then handed to Freddie. “Just come with me.” Freddie wasn’t sure whether or not to follow these orders. For one, he was still pretty out of it and felt like shit. Secondly, why should he trust Larry after just revealing a pretty filthy secret about himself? Then Freddie thought back to Larry’s pained face when Freddie thought that he was about to be hit. Maybe he wasn’t trying to trick Freddie.

“Ugh ok,” Freddie said, holding the bag he was handed close to his chest. Larry briefly ran the back of his hand over Freddie’s cheek – if Freddie had blinked, he might have missed it – and then led Freddie out of the motel room, locking the door as they went. Freddie thought that maybe the TV was still on, but he guesses that it wouldn’t really matter. It was still dark outside, and the glow of the city beyond was visible on the horizon.

Larry led Freddie down to a car in the parking lot; Freddie was suddenly reminded of his own car. “Hey, uh, what about my car?” he asked glancing around the parking lot trying to remember where the hell he had parked it. “Uh, don’t worry about that, kid. You probably won’t want to be seen driving that car anyway. There are people who know what your car looks like.” Freddie didn’t question this reasoning. It was barely his car anyway, and leaving it behind wasn’t of any real significance to Freddie at the moment.

Larry took the bag out of Freddie’s hands and put it in the backseat of the Lincoln, it was probably some early 80’s model. “Here ya go,” Larry said, opening the door on the passenger side for Freddie before he went and got in the driver’s seat. 

They had driven maybe 10 minutes in tense, unwelcoming silence out of LA, towards the desert. Then Freddie broke the silence, “What time is it, anyway?” Larry replied without looking at his watch, “3:45.” Then silence again.

Freddie had dozed off again, and awoke with a jolt as he felt the car break really hard. They were in a parking lot out front of a neon diner. Freddie grabbed his forehead, “Jesus, where are we now?” Larry patted Freddie’s knee, “I’ll explain ev’ry thing in a minute. C’mon, let’s get some breakfast, kid.” 

They got out of the car and walked into the neon lit diner. Inside, it was just like anything you would expect from the trashy pleather seats to the tiled floor. The place was almost completely empty except for an old, leathery man sitting at the counter drinking coffee that he was sipping in between swigs from a flask, and another tall, younger looking lanky man who was eating toast and eggs in a booth near the door. There was a woman behind the counter who greeted them; she was perky, even though she looked very tired, had short curled hair, and wore the regular dress and apron uniform that waitresses normally sported. Freddie followed Larry to a booth in the corner furthest away from the other patrons. 

The waitress walked up to their table, notepad in hand, once they were seated. Freddie could see now that she was an older woman, but she wore a lot of make-up, and she looked tired but willing. “Well,” she started cheerily, “what can I get you boys?” Larry ordered sausage and eggs and a cup of black coffee. Freddie didn’t know what he wanted to he just ordered a coffee with milk and sugar. The waitress nodded and flounced back behind the counter. 

Then, Larry finally addressed Freddie, “Alright, let me come clean about what’s happening.” Freddie leaned forward to hear Larry, who was keeping his voice low. “Right now, we’re somewhere outside of Nevada. When I left the motel room back there, I went to go tell Nice Guy the truth about you.” Larry saw the fear that had just struck Freddie in the gut flash across his face, because Larry reached out and quickly took Freddie’s idle hand that was sitting on the table and brushed his thumb over Freddie’s left middle and ring finger before dropping it and going back to what he was saying. “But don’t worry, because I told them that I was going to take care of you – I mean that I was going to get rid of you. They’ll be coming to get me now, probably banging on that motel room door right now. I told them that I’d get rid of you and they said that they’d come and get me this morning at five. I think that they were going to make a new heist plan. Possibly forget the plan, or possibly move it up a day.” Freddie looked up at a clock on the wall above the door; it read 5:15. 

Freddie ran his hands through his hair nervously, “So what? They think I’m dead? What are they going to think when they break into your room and you’re gone? What will they think happened with me?” Larry gave him a silencing look as the waitress approached with their order. Once she had placed the plate and mugs down on the table for them, she said, “Just let me know if ya need anything else, boys,” before walking into the back room, pushing the door open with her hip. Freddie noticed that the man that had been drinking at the counter had left, and the only people in the room were him and Larry and that other lanky guy. Larry had noticed it too, because he kept glancing over at the guy.

Larry turned back to Freddie after the interruption from the waitress, “That’s why we’re getting lost. The further we are from LA by sundown tonight, the better.” Larry shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. Freddie laughed a little to himself, “Shit, Larry, why are you doing this for me? I’ve done nothing but hurt you so far, you just found out about it 12 fucking hours ago and you’re so ready to just leave everything to help me! I’m not saying that I don’t trust you, but it’s a fucking dumbass thing to do for a guy who has been lying to you and betraying you the whole time we fucking knew each other!” Freddie must had started to raise his voice, because he looked over and saw the skinny guy near the door staring at him, looking away quickly when Freddie caught his eye. Freddie ducked his head for a moment before quietly saying to Larry, “I care about you so much, but you have no more reason to care about me.”

Larry had been silently eating his eggs that entire time, but when Freddie said that, Larry set down his fork. “What do you mean I have to reason to care about you? What about all of that time we spent together? Do you think I care for you because you were going to steal diamonds with me? Or because you weren’t a cop? No. I care about you because of the connection that we had, kid. The time we spent together, the kind of fun we had,” Larry smirked to himself at that and Freddie felt his cheeks flush too, “and everything else that we had is the reason I care.” Larry set his foot down firmly between Freddie’s feet under the table, which presumably was a loving gesture. Larry picked up his fork again and started to bring more eggs to his mouth, but he quickly said, “and I love you too,” before putting the fork in his mouth.

Freddie’s breath hitched in his throat. It wasn’t that these words hadn’t come out of Larry’s mouth before (not that it wasn’t at moments when Freddie was bouncing up and down on Larry’s lap or had a mouthful of Larry’s dick), but that this was the time that Freddie knew it was genuine. He thought back to himself weeping those words to Larry hours earlier, and the reciprocation felt so much better than Freddie could have imagined.

Freddie took a big drink from his coffee mug before saying, “It’s Freddie by the way. My name’s Freddie Newendyke.” Larry stopped eating his eggs again, “well, then I love you too, Freddie.” A huge smile spread across Freddie’s face. He put his face in his hands, feeling hot tears welling up in the corner of his eye – he was so overwhelmed right now. 

When they had both finished their breakfasts, Larry threw a 20 down on the table and walked with Freddie out into the parking lot. When they had gotten back into the car, Freddie was still smiling. Larry looked over at him, “Shit, baby boy, I love you so much.” Then Larry leaned over to Freddie, took him by the back of the neck and kissed him more passionately than he had in days. Freddie reached over, rubbing his hands on Larry’s shoulders and chest as they kissed. “God, baby, what am I gonna do with you?” Larry said, pulling back and looking into Freddie’s eyes, “I love you, so much... I love you… Freddie.” Freddie smiled wide, “I’ve been waiting a really long time for someone to say that to me. Goddamnit, Larry…” Freddie bowed his head and shook it, feeling silly in admitting this to Larry. 

Larry ran his hand through Freddie’s hair, ruffling it slightly in the process. “Well, kid, we better get going. Maybe we’ll go to Vegas or drive down to Phoenix,” Larry said as he cupped Freddie’s cheek in his strong hand. Freddie pushed back into his hand and felt really and truly loved. Freddie laughed and nodded in response to Larry’s proposition. 

They were runaways now, running from the law now, and from other outlaws like themselves. This was the beginning of some real Bonnie and Clyde shit. Except this time it wasn’t two bank robbers in the south in the ‘30s. Now, it was Freddie and Larry: a diamond thief and a (ex) cop in the desert in the year 1992, running from both the law and those who broke it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok sorry that it's literally been over a month since I updated this fic, but I was busy for several weeks doing summer gym at school, and so I was way too tired every evening to write anymore of this. Anyway, I hope this is ok. I'm not sure if i'll stick to the 5 chapters I had originally planned. It may end up longer.

**Author's Note:**

> this is so pathetically self indulgent: it's just things that I wish could have happened in a better universe, but it only gets better after this. Also, please tell me if you see typos, I have terrible typing habits and lack a sharp eye when proof reading.


End file.
